Ashes and Blood (Aegis of the Gods: Book 2)

Chapter 3

A sense of relief washed through Ancel at his father having missed the heart. He’d seen men survive an arrow to a lung, but he’d also seen some die.

“This work on the armor and skin …” Stefan said. A frown on his face, he circled the giant. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Well … yes, on me.”

“No, not yours. Even when I first saw your Etchings I thought they were familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. Now, with these ...” Stefan trailed off.

“Where? On who?”

“A long time ago, back in Seti. It was on a—never mind. We need to get him to Eldanhill immediately.”

Intrigued, Ancel opened his mouth to press the issue.

“Forget it. Now isn’t the time or place,” his father said.

Ancel snapped his mouth shut and nodded. He took a moment to consider the giant’s size and weight. “How are we going to move him?”

“We’ll build a large litter.”

As doubtful as he was, Ancel was willing to try, but he also had other concerns. “What about the wolves, Da?” Squinting, he peered into the woods. “They could return at any moment.”

“No, they won’t. They’ll regroup first, most likely find another pack to bring this way. We still have time if we hurry. Charra can stand guard. Let’s go.” Unsheathing his sword, Stefan headed into the trees.

Ancel followed, staying close, eyes scanning the shadows. The sun’s glimmer showed higher in the sky, but the overcast conditions fought against its light. Among the woods, the hardier cedars were still green. Burnt-red oak leaves dotted branches covered in hoarfrost. Dead foliage peeked through piled snow. Ancel kept a wary eye on those mounds.

The sound of hacking drew his attention to where his father chopped at a sapling. After one more uneasy glance at the piled foliage, Ancel followed suit.

Time passed at a torturously slow pace as they worked. Bird song and the chatter of winter animals feathered the air. On occasion, Ancel stopped to mop his brow and take a sip from his other waterskin. When hunger gnawed at his belly, he chewed on pieces of dry rabbit and crusty bread. His scarf now rested around his neck, and although tempted, he resisted the urge to remove his cloak. Often, his father flicked a hand to his own forehead to wipe away perspiration. Between the two of them, they had a growing collection of branches from which to choose.

While they worked, Ancel kept an eye on the giant from time to time. Unlike before, he breathed evenly and slowly as if in a deep slumber. How could someone be in his state of frostbite and still live? Where was the man from? Men almost as large lived among the Nema and Seifer clans in the Kelvore Mountains, but like most northern Granadians, they were a paler skin tone. If the stories were true, the Sven and Harnan were as big, if not bigger, but the latter were in Ostania. Ancel pursed his lips. That might explain the giant’s mahogany complexion.

The man’s wound troubled him. Ever since he received his Etchings, his arm and chest in the same area were much stronger. Unbelievably so. He’d taken to testing it. One day, rather than use his sword, he raised his hand to block a blow while sparring with Mirza. He never told, but besides a slight sting, the strike, which should have broken a rib, hadn’t done much. Later the same night, he took a knife and tried to scour the Etchings. Again the twinge, but not once did the blade pierce his skin. Then, today. The wolf’s teeth should have pierced his fur and armor and crushed his arm but hadn’t come close. So how did Da’s arrow go through armor and flesh covered in an Etching?